


Instinct

by MonkeyBard



Series: Silverfox Adventures 2.0 [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyBard/pseuds/MonkeyBard
Summary: An accident gives Silverfox a chance to get into the action.





	Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> Date: 5 July 2019  
> JWP #1: Boom! Explosions, literal and otherwise. Include at least one in your work today.

When the explosion rocked Edinburgh Base, Silverfox instinctively raced towards it. He didn’t consider the relief that surged beneath the adrenaline. He thought nothing about the excitement that sizzled behind his no-nonsense response. He simply rushed into the mêlée, assessed the situation, demanded answers, and gave orders. It was what a soldier, a commander, did.

“An oxygen compressor inside the bulkhead,” a flustered drudge shouted, half to be heard over the cacophony, half because she’d been temporarily deafened by the boom. “Leak…ignited.”

It was all he caught, but it was enough. “Anyone on the other side of that wall?” he demanded.

She shook her head, rubbing at her ears and opening and closing her jaw like it would help. “Dunno, sir. Don’t think so.”

Flames licked at metal walls. Shocking how much was combustible on a space station, he thought in passing. “Why the molten fuck hasn’t the emergency bulkhead dropped?”

Smoke plumed, thick and black. Why weren’t the cyclers clearing it? Why weren’t suppression systems stifling the flames?

The systems must know what drudge didn’t. There was someone in there and it was someone worth saving. The autosystems were strictly programmed. It had to be one of the tops— _Unlikely down here._ —or:

“Satan’s cock,” he cursed. “It’s fucking got to be fucking Oracle.” Anyone else in there with was just plain lucky. Without him, they’d be suffocated by now.

Medical personnel, led by Doc, arrived hard on the heels of a rescue team. Doc ordered the medics back. “Let the rescuers do their work! We’ll set up triage over there.” He pointed to the right and made eye contact with Silverfox.

“Where did you come from?” Lestrade asked Doc, though it didn’t matter. Not waiting for a response he didn’t need, he grabbed an oxy-filter mask and fire-proof jacket from the supply of gear the rescue team brought. Donning both as easily as he would his flight jacket and headset, he joined those who entered the blaze to search for injured people.

Sure enough, there was Oracle. Lestrade left the other four injured for the official team to aid and made a bee-line for him.

“Oracle!” he hollered over the din. He grabbed Holmes’s arm and swung him around so they were face to face. _Definitely dazed, possibly in shock._ No doubt his ears were ringing like a warning claxon when reps were on approach. His dark hair was made darker by soot, and his pale face was smudged with ash and blood.

Not pausing to think, Lestrade took deep breath of clean air and then tore off his mask. He shoved it against Holmes’s face, wrapped an arm around the taller man, and together plunged out of the chaos.

***

“With respect, Commander, sit your arse back down or I’ll be forced to restrain you.”

Lestrade gave the young woman the hairiest of eyeballs, but she didn’t back down. He recognized her, although it had been months and light years since last he’d seen her. She’d been there on Earth during the final assault. And she’d been the one primarily responsible for saving Doc’s life.

He released some of the fighting tension that he’d held since the explosion and sat back down on the exam bed. “Yes, Doctor Jones.”

She took his left hand in her own and began to gently swab antiseptic over a burn he had no recollection of acquiring.

He hissed in a pained breath and swallowed a curse.

She barely glanced up through dark eyelashes. “Swear all you want, Commander. It actually makes it hurt less.”

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Your choice.”

He could swear there was a hint of a smirk in her tone, but he couldn’t see enough of her face to confirm it.

“Just get it done. Please.”

“Please, is it? It must hurt a lot.” She dropped the antiseptic swab in a bin and reached for a plastic bottle full of blue goo. “Bind is no good on this sort of burn, in case you’re silently questioning my methods.” She snapped open the cap and aimed the narrow tip at the burn on his had. She squeezed the bottle and a thick stream of the goo inside squirted out, instantly cooling his flesh and numbing the pain.

He couldn’t help it. He sighed in relief. “Thanks.”

“Please and thanks? It’s a day for the record books,” she teased. “We all know how much you love the company of medical personnel, so it’s also your lucky day.”

“What does that mean?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion, deepening the lines at their corners.

“You can’t use that hand until the gel finishes its job. I can’t trust you not to disturb it; hands are notoriously difficult not to use. So, lie back and make yourself comfortable. You’ll be here for another three hours.”

“Three hours?” he echoed incredulously.

“Consider yourself lucky.” They both turned to see John Watson in the doorway. “You don’t want to know how much of that stuff I had or where on me or for how long after that final attack by the Conundrum.” He turned to Jones. “Need anything, Martha?”

“No. Unless you’re offering to keep that one from using that hand to jerk off or something for the next three hours,” she replied easily, jabbing a thumb in Lestrade’s direction.

Doc burst out laughing as Lestrade gaped. “Go on,” said John. “I’ll make sure he behaves himself.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She left them in peace.

“I…” Lestrade sought the words. “I was not expecting that from her.”

“She’s as battle hardened as any of us in her own way. You know what it’s like. Got to find the comedy where you can.” John came further into the room and picked up the datapad with Lestrade’s medical chart on it. He glanced from it to the man himself. “You might as well do what she said and lie back. You’re going nowhere. I can secure that hand to the bed if it’ll help keep you from fussing at it.”

“You’d have to tie them both down in that case.” But he did as he was told and made himself as comfortable as he could one handed.

“What you and Marquardson get up to in the privacy of your own quarters is none of my business.” That got John a laugh, dry though it was.

“I assume Oracle’s all right or you wouldn’t be bothering me.”

“Recovering nicely, thanks to you.”

Something in his tone caused Greg to turn his head and really look at him. “Someone would have gotten him out. I just spotted him first.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I knew who to look for.” He shrugged against the thin mattress of the diagnostic bed.

“I can follow your logic on that. What I don’t follow is why you went in there yourself.”

“I was there. I wasn’t going to stand around not helping.”

“But why were you there? Why did you choose to help in that way?”

“What are you driving at?” Greg started to sit up and John stopped him sharply.

“Lie still or I _will_ strap your hands down for the next—” He checked the time. “—two hours and 54 minutes.”

Greg knew not to challenge him. He settled back again. “Answer my question.”

“Answer mine,” countered Doc.

“I heard the explosion. It wasn’t far. I headed for it.”

“And?”

“And I helped in the way that seemed most appropriate at the time.”

John shook his head slowly, thoughtfully. “Was it, though? Those teams are trained for exactly that sort of situation. You’re trained for combat.”

“Combat is a bloody broad header and you know it.”

“And you haven’t seen any in a long time. So, when you thought you had the chance to face down the enemy, _any_ enemy, you leapt at it.”

“So you’re a shrink now?” snarked Greg.

“Battle-field doctor is a pretty broad header,” John tossed back.

“There is no battle field any more.”

“Exactly my point. The war is over. Your physical wounds have healed, just like mine. But as a doctor, I still have a job. A purpose here on Edinburgh Base. You’re at loose ends.”

Again, gritted teeth. “I’m fine, thanks.”

They both knew it was a lie.

“Sure. Of course you are.” John pulled over the one chair in the little room and sat down. “You still have a lot to contribute.”

“I never thought—”

“You don’t have to throw yourself in the way of danger to prove you’re still useful.”

Silence fell between them. Medical scanners made little noises. Air cyclers hummed, barely audible. Voices and footsteps came and went outside the open door. Eventually, Greg spoke.

“How much longer?”

Again, John checked the time. “Two hours and 41 minutes.”

Greg let out an exaggerated groan. “Satan’s ballsack. Kill me now.”

John laughed. “No such luck, I’m afraid.”


End file.
